The Proper Function Of Ravenclaw Ducklings
by notanalpaca
Summary: Oi, Summaries...why must you be so cruel? Anyways, what happens when you put two stubborn, mischievous, and (in this case) bored Ravenclaws alone in the same room? Hijinks! (In the MOST INNOCENT SENSE!)


There are two solitary figures in the Ravenclaw common room. Third years. On closer inspection it is clear to see that one is a boy, and one is a girl. They aren't aware of each other-yet.

The girl is curled up in a cushioned chair by a floor to ceiling window, wild, curly, bright red hair in a half hearted ponytail-bun type thing, with strands flying loose every few seconds. Her head is bent over her work, a boring essay on cauldron safety that she had put off until the last minute. She glances out the window onto the lightly snow-dusted grounds, admiring the view that makes the Ravenclaw common room so famous. Her back is turned to the boy.

He is sprawled out on a couch, with crumpled pieces of parchment scattered on the surrounding floor, table, and cushions, his position spectacularly contrasting with his smooth, meticulously brushed blond hair and his careful, even handwriting. He's scratching out the same essay as the girl.

They would both rather be elsewhere-playing Quidditch, exploring the grounds, building a snowman, shopping in Hogsmeade, visiting Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, or watching the Hogwarts Eighteenth Annual First and Second Year Inter-House Wizard's Chess Tournament Grand Championship,(HEAFSYIHWCTGC for short) but their essays are due by the end of the day, and the MoM representative in charge of the Magical Safety course isn't accepting any late papers.

Their relationship to each other is quite strange. Their family names carry a lot of weight and expectations that they're not sure that they can live up to. Weasley. Malfoy. Whispers in the hallways, articles in The Daily Prophet; they're used to cameras and puffs of colored smoke by now. They're the top of their class, constantly competing for first place. They've never actually had a lengthy conversation with each other, mostly communicating by the occasional smirk and consequent glare when one of them gets top marks. The boy is quite good friends with the girl's cousin, and they'll sometimes see each other at a house, where they won't make eye contact and one of them will leave and go to a different room. They just have no desire to get to know the other.

They get annoyed with each other. Little things, like the way she'll lean back in her chair when the professor isn't looking, or how he'll finish his charms with a flourish, occasionally sending sparks or powder her way and singeing the corner of her paper. But they leave each other alone.

The girl, Rose, is interrupted in the middle of her essay by a peculiar pecking at her neck. She whips around, expecting to see her prank-happy Gryffindor cousins. But she's surprised by a folded paper crane fluttering above the back of her chair, now pecking at her eyebrows. And behind that, an almost-innocently smiling boy. She rolls her eyes, annoyed. She just wants to get her essay done.

"Cranes don't peck." she mutters, "And they definitely don't flutter."

"Well, that's all I know how to make. I'm bored out of my mind."

"Not my problem."

She turns back around determined to get her paper done, but the bird keeps pecking at her. Exasperated, she turns around, swishes her wand at it, and promptly disintegrates the bird into a pile of confetti. She focuses on the boy.

"Can't you go somewhere else?" she questions him.

"Nope," he replies, popping the "p". "Lysander's gone off Merlin knows where with Lorcan, I loathe chess, and-"

She interrupts him.

"You hate chess?" She's unbelieving. Chess is her life. Both she and her annoyingly adorable little brother Hugo had won the wizard's chess tournament in their respective first years. She's ready to go on a full-blown rant about the wonderfulness of wizard's chess, but she stops herself.

"You're absolutely sure that you hate chess." She repeats.

"Yep"

"Then go to the library or outside or somewhere!"

"Can't. I may have temporarily sent fire to an unfortunate bookshelf in the library-on accident I swear- so my library, outdoor, and Hogsmeade privileges have been temporarily revoked."

"Good for you. Leave me alone then, because, in case you haven't noticed, I have a bloody essay to finish."

"Okay." He says.

She doesn't trust the sparkle of his eyes, but she continues composing her paper anyways. Of course, just as she writes the last sentence of her conclusion, something hits the side of her head. Hard. And it sticks. She reaches up and feels a folded paper airplane stuck to the side of her hair. She pulls at it with one hand. It doesn't move. She sets down her quill and tugs at it with both hands. It doesn't budge. She tries again. No cigar. She would use her wand, but she doesn't know what spell the airplane's been charmed with, and she doesn't want to turn her hair short, bright pink, and spiky or something.

She's very protective of her hair. She only ever lets her Aunt Fleur cut it. Once, her cousins Fred and James dumped an entire bag of flour onto her head for the grand finale of a series of pranks. She would have jinxed them senseless if her mum hadn't stepped in, taken her wand away, and put her in a quiet room with a book.

So, an enchanted paper airplane that seemed unlikely come out unless unless a bunch of hair is chopped off with is a deep, deep insult. She slowly turns around, teeth clenched, and glares at the lounging boy.

"Scorpius Malfoy," her voice quivers, dangerously soft, "What have you done to my hair, and why won't you leave me alone?" She points an ink-stained finger at the paper airplane sticking out of the side of her head.

The boy looks up from his blank parchment and leans back against the couch cushion, his entire being a mask of nonchalance and his hands, she notices, annoyingly clean.

"I don't really feel like telling you, I'm done with my essay, I'm bored, Lorcan, library, et cetera..."

"This," she pulls at the airplane again, "is a waste of parchment, and anyway, I thought that you said that you only know how to make paper cranes."

"Actually, it's a failed Potions essay draft, and everyone knows how to make paper airplanes. Really, are you daft?"

"Whatever it is, just tell me what charm you used."

"No."

His mouth starts on a smirk, but when he sees her getting out of her chair, eyes -and hair- blazing, it vanishes.

"Let me repeat that," She marches over to where he sits, "Tell me what charm you used," she pulls out her wand, "Or, Merlin help me, I'll hex you." Her wand unceremoniously pokes his nose.

He holds up his hands in surrender. "Temporary Sticking Charm," he stammers, "Please don't hex me," he adds.

Still shooting daggers at him, she deftly performs the counter-jinx, flicking her wand at the airplane three times, gently pulling it out of her hair, and crumpling it up. Then, without warning, she whips around and throws the parchment straight at the boy's face, where it explodes, covering his face and hair in bright red powder. Before she can even smirk in satisfaction, there's a yell of "Accio Parchment!" and another ball hits her shoulder, promptly soaking the top of her sweater.

It's a full out magic paper battle, with both sides ducking behind furniture and aiming all sorts of enchanted objects at each other. When they run out of spare parchment, they start re-charming the ones that had fallen astray. The only problem is that certain spells don't work well with each other, and even though they're the top of their class, their Transfiguration skills aren't that adept yet, especially under pressure. It's extremely hard to properly Transfigure a crumpled bit of parchment into an exploding pillow when you have to dodge a barrage of rocks sent from the other side of the room that were meant to be snowballs.

Eventually, after another bookshelf is almost set on fire, an encyclopedia almost flies out a stained glass window, (oops) and a flock of ducklings are sent waddling towards the boys' dorms, the boy and the girl are forced to stop. They collapse on the couch, red faced, and chests aching from laughing so much. The girl's rebellious red hair had escaped any constraint early on, and she's trying to restrain it a bit so that she can actually see out of her eyes. The boy's previously unnaturally smooth hair is now sticking up in weird places, but neither of them notice.

"We're going to have to clean this up." The boy finally says. He's met with silence.

"Rose, you had better help me clean this up." More silence. He turns around and looks her in the face.

"Rose!" She starts laughing.

"Don't get your wand in a knot, I'll probably help you clean up."

They start charming things back to their places. The girl breaks the silence.

"I saw your essay, by the way. It's pathetic."

"Yours isn't even finished."

"Best for last."

"Simplicity is key."

"Oh, look, we're done cleaning!"

He lightly elbows her. She conjures a mirror, reminding him of the red powder still covering his head, and he hastily wipes it off with his sleeve.

The boy and the girl are now facing each other, on opposite sides of the couch. The girl crosses her arms across her chest, and smiles mischievously.

"So," she says, "How exactly was this bookshelf set on fire?"

"Well," he smiles a bit sheepishly, the previous cool indifference gone, "Um...well..."

"My Uncle Percy always says that the best stories are the most uncomfortable ones to tell." She tries to wiggle her eyebrows like her little brother does, and fails miserably.

"Okay, fine. Well, Lorcan and Lysander and Al and I decided to make a real life Ravenclaw eagle to be a mascot. The twins said that they could get a resting perch and stuff from their mum and dad and we could have it fly around the common room or whatever. We were gonna make a big snake too, but Al shot that idea down right away and gave a look to Lorcan. Weirdos.

But we didn't know where to get an eagle so Al-I mean, I suggested that we Transfigure a post owl into one, and that way we could give it blue and bronze feathers. Lysander said that we should ask a prefect for permission first. Al asked Roxanne about it, she's a Slytherin prefect, conveniently not mentioning me-I think that she's still mad about the Quidditch "incident" last year but it's not my fault that she was too busy mooning over Bradley Jordan was it?-but anyway she said that she didn't really care what we did so Al took that as a "yes".

So we took an owl from the Owlery, no one was there, but we forgot to take our book of spells with us, because we had left it in the library. So Lorcan went back in to get it. But we weren't paying enough attention to the owl and it kind of just escaped and flew away towards the library windows and so I ran up to the library to warn Lorcan. And just in time. The owl was pecking at the windows, trying to get in and generally just being noisy. I don't know why it didn't just fly back to the owlery but it must've been new or something. Madam Pince was coming over and the owl wasn't going away and Lorcan was kind of freaking out so - I don't know, I wasn't really thinking-"

"Well that's obvious,"

He glares at her, and continues.

"-and so I tried to open the window by magic but the spell just kind of missed, and well, shot at the closest bookshelf and by that time Madam Pince was right behind me and the bookshelf just kind of exploded into flames and Madam Pince put it out, but, Merlin, was she mad. Lorcan ran for it and the flames made the owl finally go away.

She must've yelled at me for a solid half hour. The only reason she stopped was because we had that special speech by that really important guy from the Ministry and she had to present some historic books and whatever, but I still got a week's detention, plus library, Hogsmeade, and outdoor privileges on hiatus. I made Al, Lorcan, and Lysander swear to not tell anyone."

He finishes, and is surprised to see the girl grinning widely.

"You were going to Transfigure a school owl into an bronze and blue eagle? And have it live in our common room? You do realize that you're only thirteen, right? Merlin, that's so boneheaded, I'm proud. And I thought that only Weasleys did things that crazy."

Her grin grows even wider,

"And setting a bloody bookshelf on fire? That's brilliant! You should get a summer job at my Uncle's."

Ravenclaws are starting to trickle back into the dorms, and the noise level is steadily rising. Then through the portrait hole steps a sight that neither the boy nor the girl are happy to see. Adam Criswell. He's a boy in their year, of average height, average brownish-blond hair, average everything, but his snobbiness levels are way above most people's. Unfortunately, he's extremely intelligent and is the main reason why it's a struggle to place second in the class, let alone first. He's adored by most of the professors, due to his innocent smile and sweet disposition...while the professor is watching. He's followed by a small entourage, who all have their noses somewhat pointed up and look vaguely like they're smelling old moldy socks. Adam stops in front of the couch where the boy and girl are sitting. He is known for his hobby of picking on the kids sitting in the corner, the ones that don't come to the chaotic Quidditch afterparties, the ones without a squad of friends. Rose and Scorpius both fall into those categories. They dread the taunts to come.

"Weasley. Malfoy." He sneers, "Falling behind on your homework, are you? I guess having a famous family doesn't guarantee a path to success, right, Rose? Or are you still moping about not making the Quidditch team again. Poor wittle wosie," His entourage laughs. Of course, there aren't any prefects or older students around. As always.

Adam turns to the boy, his sneer growing even wider. "And poor little Malfoy here can't even finish a basic essay without making a mess! Oops!" He knocks over the boy's ink jar with an exaggerated motion, intending to spill it all over the table, but the top had been screwed on, so nothing happens. Perhaps to make up for it, he grows even more vicious. "Well, everyone knows that Malfoys will never amount to anything. A disgrace to Ravenclaw, this one is. Never even tried out for Quidditch, the sod. Isn't even smart enough to play chess. And he needs a girl's help for an essay! How pathetic! How-"

But how much of something Scorpius is, he never finds out, because at that moment, both he and Rose bolt up, and point their wands at Adam's throat.

"And what is that supposed to mean, that I need help from a girl?" Scorpius' fists are clenched and his teeth are gritted. "In case you haven't noticed, your grades are dangerously close to taking third place. Behind me and Rose. Maybe you need some help to be shown what happens when you mess with a Malfoy. And since when did not being a Quidditch star mean that you're any less of a person?" He's flaming now, letting out the anger, the result of 3 year's teasing.

Rose isn't any less furious. Her eyes are steely grey, now, and it seems like she has no qualms against hexing Adam into a puddle. "We'll see who's pathetic now," she mutters.

Adam's clique seems frozen, not knowing what to do. After all, two of the best students in their year seem ready to blow up their leader. They scatter and run. Adam laughs nervously, not meeting either the girl's or the boy's eyes, and sprints away, heading to the boys' dorms.

They lower their wands, and cast triumphant glances at each other.

"Bloody hell! What did we just do?"

"I don't know, but it was pretty awesome."

More students are streaming in. Well, streaming in in chunks, that is. The painting changes its riddle every few minutes, so sometimes there's a huge buildup of Ravenclaws sitting outside the door, trying to puzzle out the riddle. The muttering will turn to talking, which eventually leads to exasperation and pounding on the wall, hoping someone will hear. A prefect finally gets the bright idea to just prop open the portrait with a chair, so that everyone can just come in.

The girl's sleeve is yanked forcefully, and she finds herself by the window again, close to her Quidditch-obsessed best mate in all the world. Lizzie Wood.

"What were you doing talking to Malfoy?"

"Standing up to Adam Criswell."

"Merlin's pants! I wish I could have been there. Did you hex him?"

"He bolted before I got the chance to, the bloody coward."

"Of course. Oh hey, if you're on speaking terms with Malfoy now, could you try to recruit him to try out for Quidditch next year? I'll most likely be Captain, and we'll definitely have a shortage of players, and there's no way I'm letting Ingrid play, not after she broke that window-" she shudders. "And I heard that he's pretty good. I mean his dad was, so it seems obvious that he would have some skill, and anyway Lysander says he follows a bunch of teams and he's seen him practicing by the forest and-"

Rose grabs her friend's shoulders and shakes them.

"Would you get your mind off Quidditch for a second? Tell me about Hogsmeade! Did you see my Uncle George there this time?"

Across the room, a very similar scene is happening. Scorpius' arm has been nearly pulled out of its socket as his best mate Lysander pulls him away from the couch, not explaining why, as usual.

"Hold up, Lysander!" he shouts, "I've still got to get my homework!"

When he's gotten his papers together, he makes his way over to a very impatient Lysander, who immediately starts walking towards the stairs to the boys' dorms, probably to show him a rare photo or sketch of a creature he discovered.

They're just about to go up the stairs when they hear shouts from above, followed by a series of large crashes that echo through the common room. Everyone dashes over to where the two boys are standing, eager to discover the source of the sounds of destruction. A scream starts, and slowly gets louder, and they hear running footsteps, and a figure waving his arms madly can be seen at the top of the stairs. He tries to run down, but trips and falls, tumbles the rest of the way, and, after the crowd scatters and pushes each other out of the way, lands on a pile of discarded jackets and bags. It's Adam Criswell.

The crowd tentatively turns their gaze back to the stairwell, expecting some hidden horror to jump out from behind the wall, but the only sight is a flock of ducklings waddling and tumbling down the steps. When they reach the ground, it becomes plain that they're not only ducklings, but their feathers are some very peculiar colors. Bronze. And blue. They waddle their way through the very confused crowd until they reach their destination: A certain blond haired boy who's an honorary member of the Wizards and Witches With Absolutely Horrendous Names (founded by Albus Severus Potter). Scorpius Malfoy. He looks absolutely shocked and unsure as what to do with a dozen Ravenclaw ducklings blinking up at him. Lysander, next to him, of course, looks absolutely ecstatic, whipping out his journal lightning fast and starting a page of observations, his face one of absolute fascination and concentration. Scorpius just looks absolutely confused.

The crowd eventually disperses. In the confusion, Adam's disappeared, and no one really cares. His squad's gone with him. Scorpius and Lysander are left, Lysander still frantically scribbling away and Scorpius still looking baffled and desperately trying to keep people from steeping on the ducklings. And a certain red-haired girl passes by and presses a piece of parchment into his palm. It reads in nearly incomprehensible handwriting:

The Revenge of Scorp and Rose on Adam Criswell

Part 1: COMPLETE

Part 2: to be discussed soon

PS: Looks like you got your wish.

~Rose


End file.
